


Run Away With Me

by House_Blackfyre



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, House Stark, R Plus L Equals J, Rough Sex, Sibling Rivalry, Smut, The Night's Watch (ASoIaF)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 20:47:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15693093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/House_Blackfyre/pseuds/House_Blackfyre
Summary: Two lovers damn the consequences and choose to flee Westeros together.





	Run Away With Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LustOnMyFingers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LustOnMyFingers/gifts).



> The premise of this fic is inspired by Atetheredmind's incredible story and the smut by LustOnMyFinger's wonderful works.

**Daenerys Dayne**

The rain came down in thick sheets and if it weren’t for the deerskin tent then Daenerys would have been soaked and miserable. Her riding leathers were piled neatly in the corner of the small tent and She was clad only in her small clothes with Jon’s black cloak to keep her warm. Fortunately, they had found a shallow cave that protected them from the worst of the wind and rain. Through the skin of the tent Daenerys could see the shadows thrown by their pitiful campfire. It was the first they had allowed themselves in a week. Jon’s shadow was unmistakable amongst their horses’ and Ghost’s. He stood, restless as his wolf at the cave’s entrance.

Frustrated, Daenerys peaked her head through the tent’s flap. “Jon.” She called. Both man and direwolf turned to stare. Jon’s eyes were a dark grey, made black in the firelight. His hair clung to his face and the gauntness of his cheeks and the beard that traced his jawline gave his face an almost predatorial nature. In the time they were apart, Jon had grown taller, stronger with a firmness in his eyes that she thought not present before he left for the wall. “You’re going to catch a chill.”

Jon shook his head, a small smile on his face. “I will be fine Dany.”

She frowned in return. “You’re wet. Likely cold and you will need your rest for tomorrow’s ride.” They had ridden through the day and night on the first two days of their journey and then were forced to rest their horses. Despite her protest that they should alternate who slept in the saddle while they rode, Jon forced her to sleep while he kept alert. For that she was grateful. Daenerys had always been an accomplished rider but she had never ridden for so long and for so hard. Their journey was made more difficult because every village from Winterfell to White Harbor had to be avoided. There was a string of villages along the White Knife and so they ventured in the wilderness rather than the well beaten roads. She had cut her distinctive silver hair short and wore a hood at all times, but Jon’s face and clothing were an even greater problem.

Jon had the look of a Stark, long faced with an almost permanent solemn expression and mahogany brown hair. His clothing was that of a brother of the Night’s Watch. Everywhere south of the wall, a fleeing brother in black was inviting a death sentence and every lord in the north knew Lord Stark sent his natural son to the wall in disgrace. _Because of me._ Daenerys thought.

“I am… I was a ranger, Dany. North of the wall is much colder than this.” Jon answered.

“And does a ranger not need sleep or is that just Jon Snow?” She countered. She saw his resolve weaken and then went for the kill. “Ghost can keep watch. His eyes and ears are sharper than ours both _and_ I’m cold.” She shivered for good measure.

An expression of concern crossed Jon’s face and a moment later he crossed the gap between them. His gloved hand cupped her face and she saw him stare at her lips before he met her eyes. “I’m sorry Dany.”

Her brow wrinkled. Jon had apologized half a hundred times, despite her insistence that fleeing Winterfell had been her idea in the first place. “There’s no need.” She said. The first time she was gentle but each apology brought a bit more frustration. “Take off your boots.” When he took too long to comply, Daenerys worked at his laces herself. The cloak fell away and her breast were bared. Cold stiffened her nipples and she heard Jon’s breath hitch at the sight of her bare back. Jon’s fingers fumbled at the other boot and soon he was divested of his footwear. She felt how damp his breeches were and worked at the laces to those as well.

Jon’s hands caught her fingers. “Dany, we can’t.” He protested but his voice lacked his usual steel.

“These should dry by the fire and your shirt as well.” Daenerys reasoned. A shred of guilt worked its way through her. They were both oathbreakers. Cursed in the eyes of both gods and men. Long ago Daenerys had come to terms with her broken oath but Jon was a Stark to the bone. Broken honor was a wound that ran deep.

He listened to her reasoning and released her hands. When his breeches fell to the floor the sight of his arousal beneath his small clothes brought a heat to her center. The power they both had over one another seemed all-encompassing. Unavoidable. Destructive, many would argue. Jon’s shirt fell to the cave floor a moment later and he did not resist when she pulled him into the tent. 

Jon fell between her splayed legs and their lips met in a gentle kiss. She traced his jawline, both fascinated and disappointed that she could not see the face beneath. He had left for the wall, angry, shamed and in chains. A boy returned a man. _Hers._

“I love you,” Jon said when their lips parted. His voice was heavy with emotion. Daenerys answered with a deeper kiss and locked her ankles around Jon’s waist. Jon moaned when she caught his bottom lip between her teeth and sucked it, _hard._ Her fingers danced across his skin. If Jon had any residual fat before he left for the wall, it was gone now.

Her lover traced her jawline with his lips and then soon he placed kisses along the column of her neck. Those kisses turned to sucks and nibbles. In Winterfell, they had to be so careful. Now she goaded him. “Mark me, Jon.” _Make me yours._ The words inflamed him and Jon bit her neck and then her collar. She turned her head to allow him access. A delighted whine escaped her lips when his cock dug into her core.

The thin cotton of their small clothes grew maddening and Daenerys forced down his smallclothes. She grew frustrated when the cloth caught on his cock. Her feet kicked at the side of his hips and then she forced the cloth down to free his cock and tangle around his legs.

Jon did not help her. Instead, his mouth fixated on her nipple. He sucked the erect bud with a fevered passion. Daenerys gasped with his teeth grazed the sensitive skin. Jon moved to pull away but she gripped his scalp and pulled him back. “Again,” Daenerys commanded.

Jon obliged. The slight pain did wonders for her. Her small clothes were soaked through and her hips rose to grind against Jon’s hip. His tongue traced the underside of her breast. A vanguard for his lips which soon replaced the appendage. She did not want gentle. Not now. “Bite me.”

Her lover looked up at her. The heat in his eyes burned her. Stared into her soul, took a piece and replaced it with a piece of his own. He bit her nipple. Daenerys’ hands fisted in Jon’s hair. She did not know whether to pull him away or smother him with her small breasts.

Jon made the decision for her and his lips were tracing a path down her body by the faint lines of her ribs. Any other time she would have let him continue. Jon had an obsession with what lay between her thighs. Even in Winterfell, when at any moment they could have been discovered, he had a habit of diving between her thighs and not rising again until she begged him. Now she needed to be filled. Her hand tugged on his cock. She stroked him, delighted as he shuddered and his hips lifted in response to her touch. “Fuck me.” Daenerys commanded.

She lifted her hips to allow him to remove the last of her garments but Jon merely tugged the cloth to the side and sank into her in a single motion. Daenerys cried out, both in pain and pleasure. Jon paused to let her adjust but Daenerys lifted her hips and worked them in a circle. “Gods Dany.” Jon moaned and then he pulled back halfway before sinking to the root.

Daenerys did not give herself time to adjust. Instead, her nails dug into Jon’s back and one foot pressed insistently against his muscular backside to convey her desire. He felt too big. Each thrust forced her to stretch around him. Each time he buried in her she felt his tip press against the back wall of her channel. His sack slapped against her ass and her legs spread lewdly so he could reach even deeper.

Jon seemed inflamed by her submission. He pressed her thighs together and then folded her legs so they threatened to touch her chest. The tent did little to muffle the sound of skin slapping against skin or her filthy words. “Take it, Jon. Fuck me. Fill me.”

To her surprise Jon paused. Before she could question, he tugged hard, there was a rip and her small clothes were in tatters. He fucked her through her protests. “They were annoying.” 

Her lover craned his head to savage her lips. Daenerys met him eagerly, her cries muffled by the play of their tongues. Perhaps it was their prolonged separation or her goading, but Jon was ruthless. He pounded her until she begged him to slow and then he fucked her with long slow strokes that made her climax without the aid of her fingers.

Her walls clenched around him. In a desperate bid to milk him of his seed. Jon tried to make the smart decision and pull out her. Normally she would have loved to see the streaks of white on her belly, but a primal desire overtook her. She locked her legs around his waist and whispered in his ear, “Fill me, Jon. I’m yours now and always. Claim me. Spill inside me.”

Jon was powerless to her charm. He grunted. His back tensed, and her hands felt the sudden iron in his arms. There was another powerful pump of his hips and then he stilled. She felt his cock pulsate. One, two, three… deep blasts that would surely fulfill their purpose. Daenerys hummed and rubbed Jon’s back until he all but collapsed on top of her. She kissed the sides of his face and then smiled reassuringly when he sent her a worried look.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Jon said.

 _Perhaps not._ Daenerys thought. “It will all be fine.” She said instead. Jon was not assuaged but he did not argue.

They settled against one another. Her back to his chest with his crotch pressing against her arse. Jon idly cupped her breast with one hand while the other rubbed her flat stomach. His cloak served as their blanket while hers served as their bedding.

By his heavy breathing, Jon was close to sleep. Daenerys felt drowsiness set upon her as well. The dying light of the campfire made her all the more comfortable. “Jon?” She asked experimentally. He grunted. “How long should we stay in Braavos?”

Jon tensed behind her. “I don’t know. A week? Perhaps longer to see if I can find work.”

She understood the meaning. He did not know whether his family would follow them that far. There had been no time to plan the specifics. Jon had arrived a week earlier, in the middle of a thunderstorm only a fortnight after Lord Stark, Sansa and Bran had left with the King’s routine for King’s Landing. Nearly a year late to protest her wedding but it did not matter. A single look at him had Daenerys risk everything; break her vows and flee across the narrow sea.

“We need to find new clothes for you soon.” Daenerys imagined the frown on her lover’s face. _He knows I mean stealing._

“White Harbor is still far away.” Jon answered. It was true. The distance from Winterfell to White Harbor was over three hundred and forty miles. They still had several days of travel before they would come in sight of the city. Daenerys wanted him out of black as soon as possible however. Every mile he wore his black cloak brought another opportunity for someone to spot them and send word to Winterfell. She wondered if her husband had already formed a hunting party. It had already been a week…

Jon clutched her tighter. “You’re worrying.” He kissed behind her ear. “Stop it.”

“Were you not worrying before I called you in here?” Daenerys challenged. She tried turning to meet his eye but Jon’s hand on her hip stilled her motion. He pulled her back flush against his chest.

“I have a new perspective.” He nipped her shoulder.

“Oh? And just what brought about this new perspective?” Daenerys asked.

“A great many things.” She stilled his fingers that played in her curls. Jon’s sigh was hot against her neck. He kissed her between his words. “The thought of forever with you.”

She snorted. “You were never one for flowery words, Jon Snow.”

“I think my Dornish love has corrupted me.” Her grip on his fingers slipped and the digits gently played with her clit. She bit her lip and spread her legs to give him greater access.

She woke before dawn with thighs sticky and covered in the remnants of her lover’s seed. Jon hovered above her. A smile was on his face and his fingers played in her hair. “Did you watch me sleep?” She asked.

He nodded. “Never was there a sight so sweet. But now we must rise.” Daenerys reluctantly agreed. Each day they rode from dawn to dusk. It was early autumn and the days were still hours longer than the nights, otherwise, they would have ridden under the light of the moon and the stars.

She glared at Jon for good measure when the soreness in her thighs flared as she mounted her horse. Their second time had been gentle and passionate. The third, she had spent the entirety on her hands and knees. Her lover’s smile was a mix of smugness and guilt.

Their week was filled with hard riding through muddy hunter trails. Seasonal rains slowed their progress significantly as brooks swelled from the daily downpour and alternative pathways had to be found to traverse the waterways. It was impossible to keep her riding leathers clean. From her boots to her shin, Daenerys was coated with a thick layer of mud. Her hair she wore in tight a bun with the hood of her cloak pulled over. She was grateful for the cloak for it was the only reason she remained warm in the saddle. Made of a thick wool, and lined with leather, the cloak kept her torso dry. It was ice grey and trimmed with lilac. On its mantle the grey direwolf of House Stark ran beneath the crossed white sword and falling star of House Dayne. It was a wedding gift from Sansa. She clutched her reins tighter as she thought of her goodsister. Daenerys had promised Sansa that she would head south when it was time for Sansa to be wed in the Great Sept. _We will never set foot in Westeros again._

Jon frequently checked upon her. Daenerys assuaged his concerns with a brave smile, but the protective glances never stopped. Anytime they were forced to dismount their horses to cross a stream, Jon would offer to guide her mount. Or when they stopped for the night to clean their horses’ shoes, Jon would start with hers unless she protested. Despite herself, Daenerys enjoyed the attention. The riding was exhausting on both her body and mind. When it came time to bed, it took all her energy to remove her boots and leathers. Most nights she fell asleep to Jon’s hands rubbing an ointment on her inner thighs and buttocks that prevented saddle sores.

They had come upon hunters in the woods once when crossing a stream. Jon had been leading as he always did, guiding his skinny garron when the hunters leveled their bows at him. There were four of them. Two of them were so wide that Daenerys had thought they could be cousins of Wyman Manderly. The others were about Jon’s height with dirt brown hair and mud-streaked faces.

“Hold!” One of the men ordered.

Jon paused in the ankle-deep water. She saw his back tense. He was halfway through the river, too far to run to the other bank. Thirty feet lay between her and Jon, though it felt like a hundred. “Go about your hunt. We have no business with you.” Jon answered in a gravel tone.

“And what business does a sworn brother have this far south from the wall I wonder?” One of the skinny hunters said. Their bows were loosely notched, but it was still too much distance for Jon to close upon them. Daenerys wished he wore ringmail.

“My business does not concern you. Turn around and go the way you came.” Jon ordered.

The skinny hunter smiled, his teeth were brown, and a few were missing. His companions grinned stupidly alongside their presumptive leader. “Methinks it does. Lord Stark sent a raven to the entire North. His bastard brother kidnapped his pretty wife. Sabas, I think he has the Stark look.”

Sabas, one of the fat ones, flashed a grin and nodded eagerly. “Methinks it too.”

“Don’t worry my lady. We will handle this one and deliver you back to your lord.” The other fat one cried.

“In spite of our appearances, we are not too stupid to mistreat a lord’s wife.” Their leader said.

“He hasn’t taken me. I do so of my own free will. Go about your hunt and leave us in peace.” Daenerys shouted across the river. She wished she was mounted. The only weapon she carried was the dagger at her hip, but Jon was fond of telling her details of his many lessons in war craft. _Archers fear nothing more than a mounted man._

That caused the riders to blink, quite stupidly she thought, and then to her surprise they laughed. First one and then all of them. “I’m afraid your husband will have to deal with that my lady!” The leader shouted. He shook his head. “Stealing your brother’s wife eh? Not sure if I should shake your hand or run and hide my wife away. How does a bastard manage that?” Jon did not answer. The leader shrugged. “Well I suppose it won’t matter. Chains do have a way of reducing one’s charm.”

“It is a long way to Winterfell.” Jon coldly stated.

The hunters grinned. “A hundred golden dragons for you, _dead or alive._ A thousand for his lady wife, unharmed. Bringing you in is just a courtesy. I’m sure your brother would like to take your head himself.”

“I have a hundred with me if you let us go!” Daenerys yelled. _Eighty in truth but I doubt they can count that high._

The three lackeys paused but the leader vehemently shook his head. “I’m sorry my lady but the numbers do not add up.” He turned to Jon. “Lower your sword, on my honor I swear no harm will come to the lady and I have more honor than an oathbreaker.”

Jon looked at her. His face was resigned. _Don’t do it!_ Daenerys wanted to scream. Jon looked back to the hunters. “I do not want bloodshed, but I am afraid I can’t lower my sword. I will give you this last chance to return to your families.”

A nervous murmur passed through three of the hunters. The leader grinned. “Boy, I fought in Robert’s rebellion. I killed a man from a hundred paces. You’ll be dead before you can draw that sword of yours.”

“It shouldn’t be my sword you fear.” Before the man could register Jon’s words, a white shadow sprinted from the woods behind them.  Ghost’s jaw clamped around one of the hunter’s skulls and then there was a spray of blood. An arrow was loosed at Jon, but the panic made ensured the aim was off. Jon sprinted up the bank, steel in hand before they could fire again. There were screams and more blood. Wooden bows proved useless against castle-forged steel. One hunter tried to run but Ghost caught his knee before he could travel five feet. Jon’s blade entering his throat ended the man’s screams. Above a crow cried.

Jon was kneeling in the damp dirt when Daenerys crossed the bank. His face was a placid mask that she could not read. “I didn’t want to kill them.” He told her.

She kissed his forehead. “I know.”

“I’ve killed before. Wildlings. Both men and women if they do not yield. They seldom do. Somehow this is harder.” His frown was deep.

They hid the hunters’ bodies in shallow graves at the base of great oaks. Jon’s attire changed from black to a motley of brown and green, save for his black coat, boots, and gloves.

The light from their fire that night was hidden by an overhang of granite that formed a shallow cave in the hillside. Daenerys was tucked against her lover’s side while he stared pensively into the flames. Ghost had found the cave for them. Nestled in a grove with an overhanging Weirwood tree and flanking sentinels, they were well hidden.

After the events at the river bank, Jon had been mostly silent so it surprised Daenerys to hear him speak. “Have you ever heard of the story of the Seventy-Nine Sentinels?” She shook her head. Jon continued, “The seventy-nine left south to become bandits. One was the youngest son of the Lord of the Rills-“

“House Ryswell?” Daenerys asked. Jon nodded with a sad smile on his lips. A near decade in the North had allowed Daenerys to memorize every lord north of the neck.

“When they reached his father’s lands, they sought shelter in his castle. The son thought his father would aid them. Instead, he returned the seventy-nine to the Nightfort. The Lord Commander had holes hewn into the wall and the deserters were sealed alive in the ice. Spears and horns they all have, and they face north so that in death their watch goes on forever.” He looked to her, awaiting her reaction.

“Jon.” Daenerys caressed his face. “It will not come to that.”

He shook his head. “Perhaps not but if Robb finds us before we leave, I do not expect his mercy. I broke my oath and he has his duty.”

_A crow visited her that night. One with three bloodred eyes. It poked at her face to wake her and then grew in size as she tried to shoo it away. Daenerys cried out as it clutched her arm, dragging her into the sky. Above her the ice dragon glowed, lighting the way to the North._

_“See.” It croaked. Below, a monolith of ice stretched from one horizon to the next. It was so cold that it felt as if her breath would freeze in her chest. There were men on the wall, clad in black with jagged swords made of cold fire. The crow’s talons dug into her arm. So sharp they drew blood. Her blood spilled into the clouds and black rain and soot spewed forth._

_Her dress was ruined by the foul rain as the crow drew closer. She saw spindly shapes scaling the wall. They were so faint that only the movement in the shadows from the torches allowed Daenerys to see them. Screams of dying men made tears run down her cheeks. When they fell from her face a great torrent of snow was unleashed._

_In the shadow of the wall there was a warrior clad in black ice, in his hand, a sword burned with the intensity of a dying star. Each time his sword flashed, a dark figure fell. A horn blew, long and dreadful. Three times it blew and on the third, Daenerys saw a great beast take wing with a maiden made of light in its saddle._

_“See.” The crow croaked. “Fly!” It goaded. “Daughter of death, slayer of lies, mother of…”_

Daenerys awoke to Jon shaking her. His eyes were frantic. “We have to go.” He tugged her up before she could fully awake. Jon was already fully dressed, swordbelt around his waist with a dagger and sword at the ready if need be. He helped her tug on her boots as she questioned him.

“Jon wait, I don’t underst-“Ghost howled to the full moon. _Ghost never howls. He doesn’t make a sound._ The ashen look Jon sent to her confirmed her fears.

“Now Daenerys.” Jon ordered. He half dragged her to horse. Her filly whickered nervously at the sound of the wolf. Another howl pierced the night. The pitch was different. _Two wolves._ Ghost’s hackles were raised, and his red eyes scanned the dark woods. The cave they rested in was well away from the main roads, near ten miles from the White Knife and built into the rocky, rolling hills of the plains approaching White Harbor. Jon all but threw her into her saddle and then mounted his mount with a single bound.

Daenerys whipped her reins and dug her heels. They flew over the landscape. This close to White Harbor, the tree line had thinned, and thick forests were replaced by rolling stony hills. As they crested, a breeze carried the scent of the salt of the sea. _We are so close!_

“Ride!” Jon shouted. Ride she did. Her horse was a Dornish filly. Slim, but powerfully built it was swifter than nearly any horse bred in the north. The white of its coat shined in the moonlight.

Wind tore her hood from her head and ripped the tie from her hair. Horse hooves ripped at the stony ground. Up and down the hills they went. Through thick groves and shallow streams. Her cloak billowed behind her, a long tail of grey and lilac. Ghost ran beside her mount. Jon was behind her. His garron could not match her filly’s speed but it was bred for stamina. When she looked back to her love, he shouted at her. “Don’t look back Dany! Ride and don’t look back.”

She was shivering from both the cold air and the adrenaline running through her. Fear cut through her heart as the sound of the other horses grew closer. Then the sounds of men pierced the air. Daenerys could hear the clink of their mail and steel, the beat of their hooves and the anger in their shouts.

“Halt Snow!” A man shouted. The wind warped his voice, but Daenerys knew that he was a man of Winterfell. _He has come for us._

The warhorses of their pursuers were longer and swifter than Jon’s mount. Where she and Jon had pushed their mounts as far and hard as they dared, their pursuers had likely swapped for theirs for fresh ones at each waystation. They were forming around them, closing on all sides so that Daenerys had to turn her horse.

Daenerys saw a grey shadow move swifter than any horse across the hills. The shadow suddenly turned and streaked towards Jon. White intercepted grey, a collision of fur and snapping teeth. Jon’s mount reared, and Daenerys screamed as Jon was thrown from his horse. She reined her own mount to a stop and rushed to Jon’s side.

He was slow to get to his feet, muddied from the fall and blood oozed from his cheek. Daenerys ran a hand over his form, feeling for broken bones. Thankfully there were none. Jon’s mount was nowhere to be found.

Ghost and Greywind snapped and tore each other and then parted to circle one another. Greywind’s growl was a deep rumble while Ghost bared his teeth in silence. When the direwolf litter was first brought to Winterfell Ghost had been the runt. The years had made the albino wolf taller and larger than all his litter mates but Greywind was stouter, faster and the size gap between them was not as large as Daenerys would have liked.

There were nine riders who encircled them. Eight wore silver mail over studded gambesons, steel caps with lobstered gauntlets and heavy boots. Their surcoats were emblazoned with the direwolf of House Stark and long grey woolen cloaks were pinned to their shoulders, trimmed with white satin borders. Each man held a spear with a sword and dagger belted around their waist. Daenerys knew them all. _Ser Rodrik Cassel, Alyn, Shadd, Tomard, Varly, Lew, Hallis, and Poxy Tom._ More than half her life had been spent in the North, these men had watched her grow up and now they meant to watch her love die.

The ninth rider was unmistakable. His grey plate was dirty with grime and his surcoat had a tear near the right shoulder. His faceplate was up, and blue eyes stared down at them. They were full of anger. “Jon.” He said, his voice full of spite. “Call off your wolf and drop your sword. I will let Ghost live if you surrender in peace.”

“Robb-“ Jon started.

“Don’t!” Daenerys found herself saying. Robb flinched and shifted in his saddle. Ghost was Jon’s only protection. Nine mounted men would ride him down with ease.

“It is more than the bastard deserves my lady.” Ser Rodrick said with hate. Jon did not react, but she knew the words hurt him. The Ser had trained Jon ever since he was old enough to hold a sword.

“Come with us, my lady.” Alyn reached for Daenerys but she slapped away his hand and drew to Jon’s side. By instinct, Jon moved to place her behind him, but Daenerys maneuvered free of his grip.

“I chose to go with Jon. I chose to run away with him. He didn’t steal take me by force or make me do anything I did not ask him to do. This was my choice. He has committed no crime. I beg of you, let us go.”

There were shocked gasps and curses from Robb’s escort, but Daenerys only looked to his face. The pain on his face was palpable yet brief, replaced in an instant by an iron visage. “You are mistaken, my lady.” His words addressed her, but he did not look away from his half-brother. “Jon swore a sacred vow.  A vow that he has now broken. He knows that is a death sentence.”

“Please Robb.” Daenerys pleaded.

“I will hear no more of it.” Robb turned to Jon. “What say you? Will you find honor in your last moments or die a coward?”

Jon laughed humorlessly. “Your mother as right about me. A bastard, an oath breaker but I don’t think she guessed that I’d steal your wife.”

Robb’s shoulders shook. “Blood has limits Jon. Our shared blood is the only reason you still live but it has limits.”

Jon did not heed the warning. “I am the monster she feared. Though I doubt she believed I was capable of stealing your betrothed from you.”

 _What are you doing Jon?_ Every word that left his mouth added to the undercurrent of danger. Robb was seething, and the guardsmen were ready to kill at first order.

To her surprise, Robb laughed bitterly. “You’re a different sort of monster. Did you know my mother wanted to execute you? I was so angry I considered it as well, but father denied her. He said that you couldn’t help it, that he should have expected it because it was in your blood. When my mother pressed, Father finally told her. He had been lying to all of us the entire time. Even you.”

Jon seemed to hesitate before he asked, “What are going on about?”

Robb’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t know, do you? That the wall was just as much as protection for you as it was a mercy.”

Jon scoffed. “Protection? A mercy? I was sent to a glorified penal colony in chains. That is a strange definition of mercy.”

“Anyone else would have found their head on the block and yes protection. For you and our family, because father made a promise to his sister and even when her son broke faith, he still could not break that promise.” Robb and Jon shared little similar features, but their icy glares were identical.

“Liar,” Jon yelled.

“Look into my eyes _cousin_.” Robb bid his mount to draw closer. Greywind snapped at Ghost but the white direwolf was too quick for his jaws. “Father told me the story when you left for the wall. You know the first half, Rhaegar Targaryen stole his sister and father found her in the south and brought her bones back. What you don’t know is that what he did to her brought you into the world. A bastard born by rape, spared by his mother’s dying words.” Robb looked to Daenerys then.

“I don’t believe you.” Jon denied.

“Believe what you will. Your mother tried to leave Rhaegar when she heard of our uncle and grandfather were killed by your grandfather and then he chained her in the tower and raped her till she was pregnant, all for some prophecy.”

“Jon.” Daenerys clutched his shoulder, but he was putting her behind him.

“No harm will come to Daenerys,” Jon stated. Robb nodded.

“No Jon, please.” He squeezed her hand but did not take his eyes away from Robb.

“I stole your wife away and put a stain on your honor. No matter what, your men will always know. Maybe they will make a song about you, Robb Stark’s wife has a nice ring to it.” Robb’s jaw clenched. Above the sky was beginning to glow and with the new light, came dark grey clouds broken by black and blue. A wind rustled their clothes and now the sea breeze seemed less of a salvation and more of a missed opportunity. “Face me here and now. My sword against yours, you can even keep your armor on. If I fall, then your honor has been avenged.”

“Do not be ridiculous boy. We have you surrounded. An oath breaker has no right to demand anything.” Ser Rodrik Cassel growled. His large white whiskers and red face gave him a look to some armored walrus.

Jon ignored him. “But if I win, Daenerys and I are free to leave. We will never return to Westeros and you will never hear from us again. What say you Stark? Are you half the swordsmen you think you are?”

Daenerys wanted to protest but knew Jon’s plan was the only way. _Jon will win._ She told herself. The brothers had fought a thousand times in the training yard, both were skilled, but Jon won more often than not. _Robb has armor and Jon does not._ Daenerys hoped Jon’s experience with the Night’s Watch would be the edge he needed. _To first blood, please._

Robb dismounted to the protest of his men. He held up a hand to silence them. “Very well.” He said to Jon.

Jon let out a breath. _A sigh of relief or one to calm his panic?_ “To first blood?” Jon questioned.

Robb shook his head and drew his sword. He pulled down his face mask. Red spilled over the horizon. “No. To the death.”

Jon stepped forward and drew his own blade. The hiss of steel only brought Daenerys only dread. “Cursed be the kinslayer then.”

And then the new day was brought in by the song of steel and the promise of death.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
